SARAH
by DemeterAKADemi
Summary: The story of William Wallace's daughter, and her own battle to avenge her father and free Scottland from the English.
1. Prolog

SARAH   
  
Author's Note: An idea I've had for quite awhile, I was finally inspired to put it into words. This is my first Braveheart fanfiction. Braveheart is my favorite movie and I'm happy I'm finally writing a fanfiction about it. But, as I said, it is my first. Please be kind.   
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the movie Braveheart or any of its characters. I do however; own Sarah, daughter of William Wallace and Queen Isabelle and Michael, son or Stephen the Irishman. I also own any other characters not mentioned in the movie unless stated other wise.  
  
Dedication: I would like to dedicate this story to my friend Maria, who translated several words to French for me, and explained how to write a French accent in English. Thank you Maria.  
  
Prolog  
  
Nicolette gently wiped Isabelle's forehead with a damp cloth. Isabelle moaned, her head thrashing from side to side, burning with fever. Five months earlier, Queen Isabelle and her Lady In Waiting Nicolette, had made their escape from Isabelle's husband, Edward, before Isabelle's condition could show. They now resided in the small cottage where Isabelle had met William Wallace in secret, as an ill Isabelle fought death while trying to give birth to Wallace's child.   
  
"My Lady, you must try to 'old on. Ze babe is almost 'ere." Nicolette said, brushing a lock of the Queen's long hair off her face in a soothing gesture. "Now pus'." Nicolette commanded. Isabelle grabbed hold to her friend's hand and, screaming in pain, pushed. "Good my Lady. Once more, and ze baby will be 'ere." Isabelle gave a final push, and the squalling child slipped into Nicolette's waiting arms. She quickly cut the umbilical cord with the knife she had been heating over the fire, and tied it off. She turned and cleaned the child. She smiled as she handed the child to its mother, then instructed Isabelle to push once more to rid herself of the after birth. "Congratulation's my Lady. S'e's beautiful." Isabelle's laugh changed to a harsh sob as the child was given to her.   
  
"Suc' formalities Nicolette. You know you are much more t'an a Lady In Waiting to me. You are my dearest friend and confidant. You must promise me something, oui?"  
  
"Oui Isabelle."  
  
"Promise me you will raise c'est ma fille well."  
  
"Non, Isabelle! You'll not…"  
  
"'ush. I know I will die. It is only a matter of time. You must go to William's men. Zey will protect you, I am sure. Promise me also, you will not tell my daughter of William, or I unless you zink it is absolutely necessary. Promise me."  
  
"I promise Isabelle." Nicolette responded. "Isabelle, the c'ild's name?" Isabelle's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She was in great pain, but she managed to keep her wits about her.   
  
"Sarah." Isabelle whispered. Nicolette smiled.   
  
"You 'ave always been clever, non? Princesse. It is the truth in plain site, but hidden, non?" Isabelle smiled. Her eyes glazed.   
  
"William, mon amour?" She whispered, looking at the ceiling. She smiled and her breath stopped. Queen Isabelle was dead. Nicolette closed her eyes against the pain. She knew she would have to grieve later. She reached out and closed her friend's eye lids, whispering the Lord's Prayer.   
  
"Sire Pere, qui es es ceaus, sanctifiez soit li tuens nons; avigne li tuens regnes. Soit faite ta volonte, si comme ele est faite el ciel, si soit ele faite en terre. Nostre pain de chascun jor nos donne hui. Et pardone-nos nos meffais, si comme nos pardonons a ços qui meffait nos ont. Sire, ne soffre que nos soions tempte par mauvesse temptation; mes, Sire, delivre-nos de mal. Amen." Slowly, she turned and picked up the child. The girl was watching her, her green eyes wide and expectant. As if the child knew exactly what was happening around her and was waiting to leave. Nicolette wrapped the child and walked toward the door. She knew where she would go. She would go to the red haired Scotsman, with the kind eyes who had ridden with Wallace when Isabelle had delivered the message from the king. What was his name…? Hamish! His name had been Hamish. As she opened the door and stepped out into the night, she dared look back once more on her friend. "Au revoir mon amie." She whispered, then closed the door firmly behind her and walked off into the night. 


	2. Chapter One: La Fille d'un Guerrier

Chapter One: La Fille d'un Guerrier  
(The Warrior's Daughter)   
  
Intense green eyes watched from the woodlands as a group of Irishmen made their way toward a small Scottish village. White, blond hair tangled in branched as the watcher moved silently from tree to tree, trying to get a closer look at the strangers. Aye, Irishmen, the watcher nodded. She'd been correct in her assumptions. But why would the Irish come to her village? Perhaps they were in league with her da. Or wanted to be. It seemed logical enough to her. Everyone respected her da. At seven summers, the watcher considered her self very knowledgeable and worldly. And the wish to join her father's clansmen in a fight seemed quite reasonable to the watcher. They were very honorable men. The sound of hoof beats from behind her broke her reverie and she watched with great interest as men from her village rode to meet the Irish clan, stopping just in front of them. A large, muscular Scotsman with flaming red hair climbed off his horse and stepped forward to greet one of the Irishman, the leader, the watcher thought. The Scotsman with the red hair the watcher knew well. He was the watcher's father, Hamish. The Irish leader, a short man with curling black hair, roared with laugher at something Hamish had said. The watcher grinned impishly. Her father could make anyone laugh. Curious, she moved even closer so she could over hear the conversation. A twig must have snapped, or a leaf fallen, because one of the Irish clan, a boy of about five summers, looked up just where the watcher was hiding. The boy blinked and then screamed. The watcher was so surprised that she'd been caught, she screamed too, losing her balance. Scottish and Irishmen alike where shouting in confusion. Horses reared fearfully. Hamish followed the boy's gaze and watched helplessly as his daughter fell from the tree above. The girl landed flat on her face.   
  
"SARAH!" Hamish roared, racing forward, stopping just a foot away from her. Sarah pushed herself up and sat back hard on her bum. Her skirts were torn and she had dirt on her face. Noting her father's furious face, Sarah smiled sweetly.  
  
"I'm fine da. Me arse just hurts a bit, is all." The Irishman her father had been talking to choked, and started to laugh again. Sarah was sure he was about to fall from his horse. A very cheerful fellow, she thought. The boy who'd first seen Sarah pointed at her accusingly.   
  
"Da," he said to the laughing Irishman, ", she said arse! She did. I 'eard 'er! Mum says we're not aloud to say such things!" Sarah's smile disappeared and she glared at the boy.   
  
"You made me fall! This is yer faul'!" She growled. She picked up a small stone from the ground next to her, and aimed it for the boy's forehead. Her aim was true. The boy started to howl, and fell from his horse. The Irishman sobered quickly. Hamish picked up his daughter, giving the Irishman a flustered look.  
  
"S'rry about that Stephen. Didna' learn that from me." The Irishman, Stephan, studied the girl who was still glaring daggers at his son, Michael, who was lying in the dirt. Quickly, assessing his son's injuries, Stephen leaped from his mount, and rubbed Michael's head affectionately.   
  
"Tis of no matter old friend. Come Michael. Will you 'ear an apology from the lass?" Michael quit wailing and stood up, brushing himself off. He looked thoughtful, and then nodded his assent.   
  
"Sarah." Hamish squeezed the girl tightly, making her grunt.  
  
"I'll not apologize to 'im, da. He made me fall from the tree; I made 'im fall from 'is 'orse. Seems fa'r ta me."  
  
"Well lass, no one is askin' yer feelin's on the matt'r. Now you'll apologize to young Michael." Sarah grumbled an apology. "Wot was that lass? I cou'n'a 'ear you." Hamish said.   
  
"I'm s'rry!" Sarah shouted. Michael nodded. He hesitated then said,   
  
"Yer weird fer a girl."   
  
"And yer a bloody cry baby. Don't you know boy aren't suppose ta cry?" Sarah replied.  
  
"I aint ta cry baby!" Michael shouted. The children's fathers' sighed, and remounted their horses, slinging their children over their laps. Sarah and Michael argued the whole way back to the village.   
  
  
  
That night, once Stephen and his troops had settled, the men gathered in Hamish's home to talk of things to come.   
  
"Tis the truth this time of peace won't last fer long." Hamish said solemnly.   
  
"Aye!" Several men shouted their agreement.   
  
"Oui. But zere is non telling w'en ze Englis'men will attack." Hamish's wife, Nicolette stated, sitting beside her husband. Another chorus of agreement rang out from the men. Michael walked into the room then, and the men quieted.   
  
"Michael lad, you should be in yer bed." Stephen said. "Will speak of this tomorrow men." Stephen commanded. The other clans' men cleared out of Hamish's home, leaving only Hamish, Nicolette, Stephen, and Michael.   
  
" I know da, but I got a 'eadach." The boy complained. Nicolette's eyes widened as she took in the large purple bruise on the boy's forehead.   
  
"W'ere did you get zis? You fell, oui?" The boy blinked. Stephen chuckled.   
  
"Yer daughter was a bit pissed at 'im fer knockin' her outta a tree. I don't know why I seem to recall hearin' somethin' else like that happen, but I do." Nicolette's eyes widened, and she gave Hamish a pointed look. He nodded and Nicolette took Michael out of the room. Stephen raised an eyebrow.   
  
"Wot the fuck was that all about, then?"  
  
  
  
Sarah rubbed her eyes sleepily. She'd dreamed of her again, the beautiful woman with the long dark hair and sad eyes. She always looked so sick; it made Sarah want to cry, but crying was for wee barrens. Not grown girls. Sarah climbed out of her cot and started toward her parents room when she heard the name,  
  
"…are own William Wallace." Her eyes immediately brightened. She loved the tales of Sir William Wallace. Her father had known the man and always spoke of his bravery in battle. Sarah stood outside the doorway. Her da was talking to the Irishman…Stephen.   
  
"Fuckin' 'ell! Yer tellin' me that Queen Isabelle and Wallace…the sly fucker! Are you 'earin' this Father?" Sarah didn't know which was more fascinating, this new word, fuck, or the fact that the daft Irishman actually thought to be carrying on a conversation with God. Hamish glared at Stephen.  
  
"Hold yer tongue man. There be children in this 'ome."   
  
"S'rry, but fuck me, yer sayin' that Queen Isabelle had Wallace's daughter before she cocked up her toes and died? And that no one English ever found out?" Sarah's mouth dropped. Sir William Wallace had a daughter! Maybe she knew her!  
  
"Aye. Nicolette delivered Sarah and Isabelle made 'er promise never ta speak a word of it to Sarah herself, or to anyone unless it was necessary. Nicolette came to me fer 'elp. I married 'er and raised Sarah as my own daugh'er. Sarah knows nothin' 'o this, so I'll ask you ta keep yer filthy mouth shut on the subject." Sarah stood in shock as the blood slowly drained from her face. Her da wasn't her da…Her mum…William Wallace…Queen Isabelle…Sarah shook her head in denial, backing away from the doorframe. It couldn't be true. William Wallace's wife Murron had died, her throat slit by an English bastard. She'd heard the tale again and again. He'd never remarried…she was a bastard…silently Sarah turned and ran from the cottage. She continued to run. She ran until she collapsed, tears coursing down her face, sobs racking her small body. She could only cry as wave after wave of pain crushed her fragile heart. When there were no more tears to be shed, Sarah collapsed into a dreamless sleep.   
  
  
  
Hours later Nicolette awoke beside Hamish, the feeling of wrongness that had left her tossing and turning all night refused to go away. Something was wrong. Silently she moved away from her husband and worked her way through the house, stopping at last in front of the room where Sarah slept. She looked into the room…the bed was empty.   
  
"O' non. Non. NON! HAMISH!" Hamish shot out of bed just as Nicolette ran into the room.   
  
"Wot's wrong?" He growled.   
  
"Sarah! Sarah is gone!"  
  
  
  
Sarah awoke just as dawn broke. She watched the sun rise with the sort of emotionless detachment many warriors used in battle. She stood up, ignoring the pain of cramped muscles. She would have to return home some time. Might as well make it now. Silently she made her way toward her village, noting the familiarity of the grove. It was her secret place, said to be where William Wallace and Murron had married. She was about to brake into a clearing when a scream came from her right. She made her way, almost unconsciously toward the sound. She heard voices and saw a flash of color. An Englishman.  
  
"Shut yer mouth bitch!" A solider had hold of a village girl Sarah knew, and was trying to drag up her skirt. Sarah wasn't sure what was happening, but on an instinct she picked up a rock, and took aim for the Englishman's temple. The Englishman went down. Acknowledging the fact that the solider wasn't likely alone, Sarah sought to find them. When she found them, she memorized their camp and returned to the girl. She dragged the village girl in to the thicket and ran toward the village to warn her…to warn her clan.   
  
  
  
"HAMISH! She's coming!" The search party who had been looking for Sarah all raced toward the child. She stopped in front of them.   
  
"The English 're camped in the grove. Rachel McCistern is there as well. She's fainted." Hamish was torn between the need to see that Sarah was unharmed and the need to fight for his clan. Growling furiously, he said,  
  
"COME ON MEN!" And raced on horse back toward the grove. His clan members and Stephen's clan members followed. Nicolette raced forward to embrace her daughter, who stood unyielding to the embrace.   
  
"W'at 'appened? You'll tell me, oui?" Sarah remained silent.   
  
  
  
Hamish turned and brought his sword in a downward arch, slicing the Englishman's leg. Blood spurted and the man screamed in agony. Hamish turned and put the sword through an Englishman's throat. A sickening gurgling sound was emitted before the man dropped. Hamish continued hacking through the English, taking limbs and lives until there wasn't one left standing. The clansmen stood, dripping with blood, counting how many dead and injured. This battle had been in their favor. Not a man of Scottish or Irish blood had been killed. They cheered their victory, as they headed back toward the village, where Hamish intended to question his daughter unendingly, until the fact that she was indeed safe sunk into his mind.  
  
  
  
"Hamish s'e 'asn't talked in days! I am frightened! W'at could 'ave 'appened to 'er?" Hamish shook his head, his gaze locked on Sarah. Silently she ate her lunch. She'd refused to talk after she'd spoken of the English. It had been three trailing days and his patients was wearing thin. Sarah stood up to leave.   
  
"Where 're yer manners lass? Ask to be excused." Sarah froze. She turned and looked at him. Then she spoke.  
  
"Is it true that William Wallace and Queen Isabelle are my mum and da?" Nicolette sat down hard, her face whitening. She put a hand to her throat.  
  
"Who told you that?" Hamish roared, leaping from his chair, knocking it backwards. Sarah blinked. "I swear if that bloody Irishman…" Sarah shook her head.   
  
"I overheard you and the Irishman talking. I needed ta think. That's why I went to the grove." Sarah said.   
  
"Sarah, I know zis is 'ard…" Nicolette started but Sarah shook her head. She left the room.   
  
  
  
Sarah was silent again. A week passed, and then another. Hamish and Nicolette could only watch in pain as Sarah retreated from them mentally. She did her chores and then she would go and watch the clansmen train for hours on end. Finally some three weeks later, Sarah approached Hamish.   
  
"I want to learn how to fight. I want to 'elp free Scotland from England like my da." Hamish winced.   
  
"Aye lass…I suppose it is yer right." Sarah nodded, and turned to leave. She stopped, turned back and threw herself in Hamish's arms.   
  
"I love you and mum! I wanta carry my real da's name, but would it be a'right if I called you da still?" Sarah sobbed. "I'm a bastard…so I'd understand if ya don't be wantin' me to but…" Sarah was sobs drowned out any pleas. Hamish was so close to tears himself it was painful. Nicolette watched silently from the door of their cottage, tears falling down her face. Hamish looked at her helplessly and Nicolette ran to embrace her husband and daughter. 


End file.
